All Good Stars Lead to Libations
by Zia Montrose
Summary: James and Sirius pop into The Three Broomsticks on a weeknight.


The dog's fur glinted in the moonlight.

After what had been an epic run, the dog and the stag reached a small fallow field behind an inn and trotted to a stop. There, they shifted shape wordlessly.

A pause hung in the air as they cast a wistful look at The Three Broomsticks' rear facade of weathered boards and peeling paint. Inside lay warmth and libations…

Sirius shrugged up his collar to baffle out the night air. The fringe of his hair hung damply. "Old Mackie would blow a nightcap if she knew we were here."

A smirk twitched at the corner of James's mouth. "So what now?" he asked. "Just head in and take our chances?"

"Seems like the only thing for it."

"Ready to turn on the charm?" James grinned.

"We'll need it." Sirius nodded as they entered the alley, whisking past crates of bottles.

"At least she finds us amusing…"

Sirius dropped his voice as they rounded the corner. "D'you think that's all she finds us?" He reached out to pull the tavern door.

…

Rosmerta's hands flew to her hips upon sight of them. _"What in Merlin's name are you two doing in here on a weeknight?"_

James and Sirius simultaneously bit back grins.

"Special permission?" Sirius quipped.

"Special permission my Fwooper!" A smile crept onto her face as they slid onto barstools.

James's eyes swept the pub as he took his seat. There was only one customer left, a ragged sort of warlock hunched over his drink at a table by the fireplace, and Rosmerta stole their attention back long before either of them could care whether such a random bloke spotted them in Hogsmeade.

Her hair wasn't pinned up, as they'd often seen it on busy Hogsmeade weekends, in a bun speared by her wand. Tonight, its thick chestnut waves cascaded onto the shoulders of her burgundy dress, most of which was covered by an apron, though neither succeeded in hiding everything worth looking at.

"Well, you two are in luck," she mused. "The staff was all in here_ last_ night. And Hagrid's off to Edinburgh tonight."

"Edinburgh?" James inquired.

"Supplies or the like." Rosmerta waved a hand airily. "Some sort of Hogwarts' business."

"Does that mean you'll serve us_ real_ drinks?" Sirius flashed a grin.

"Oho, pushing your luck." Her hands flew back to her hips, but the smile blossoming on her lips said they hadn't pushed too far, and after a pause, she asked, "What would you like, then?"

James shot a triumphant glance at Sirius.

"There are far greater evils than a little mead," she tutted in response to their surprise.

"A couple of Firewhiskies?" suggested Sirius.

"You've eaten dinner, I hope?"

James and Sirius traded a glance: They'd eaten so long ago their stomachs had forgotten it. And their caper through the forest had worked up a raging appetite. Rosmerta took their silence for an answer, muttered "well, first things first," and with a click of heels walked to the stove where she ladled out two bowls of stew. Returning, she set the dishes in front of the boys.

"Stew is on the house," she announced. "It's down to the dregs anyway."

James stared into his bowl of thickly-cut beef, carrots, and potatoes, the most appetizing dregs he'd ever seen, as the rising aroma of meat and herbs filled his nose. He picked up his spoon to tuck in. After they'd cooled their first spoonful and tasted it, Sirius asked, "Is there mead in this?"

"Of course. Wouldn't try making a decent stew without it."

"This is even better than the Hogwarts elves make," James pronounced.

"I'm sure they do a fine job," Rosmerta demurred, wiping down the counter with a linen, but there was a proud smile in her voice nonetheless.

At that moment, the grubby patron shuffled to the bar to pay up. His long, grizzled grey hair flanked his cheeks.

"Calling it a night, Eleazar?" Rosmerta asked cheerfully, setting aside the linen.

"Aye, time to hit the hay. What do I owe?" he asked, fishing in his pocket for coins with a knobby hand. He cast an insignificant glance at the boys.

"Just a couple sickles for your last drink. You paid the rest of your tab a minute ago, remember, dear?"

"Oh…darn it, guess I don't. Well, 'night, Rosmerta," he said, laying the coins on the bar.

"Bundle up. It's cold out," Rosmerta advised, surprising James by rounding the bar to give the old warlock a caring pat on the shoulder on his way out.

"I haven't frozen to death yet," he croaked with a wry little smirk before ambling away.

A flurry of cool air braced them as he cracked the oak door and disappeared into the night, leaving James and Sirius alone in the bar with Rosmerta.

"Poor dear," Rosmerta murmured. "Wife died a year ago. Hasn't known what to do with himself since. Must be hard, losing someone you love after all those years." Her eyes lingered reflectively on the door before her tone lightened again. "Tell you what…I've just the thing to go with those stews."

Her stretch to the shelf over the bar for tankards was followed by two sets of eyes. Not for the first time, James wondered how old Rosmerta was. She hadn't lost any allure, whatever her head start on them. On the contrary, a sidelong glance at Sirius confirmed she held more than the girls at school.

In the next second Rosmerta clinked the tankards on the bar and their eyes rebounded to her face. "Think you'll enjoy this," she said as she directed the tap to pour out two servings. "It's my best oatmeal stout. Only make it in the autumn, you know. You can chase it down with a Firewhiskey later if you're still hot for it." She slid the foaming tankards in front of them, expertly slipping a coaster under each before stepping back and folding her arms to witness their taste test.

"And if any of the staff comes in, I expect you'll take full responsibility for showing up in my pub on a week night." The twinkle at the back of her eye belied any true admonishment. "I assume you've prepared some cock and bull story for the occasion?"

"We always do," Sirius nodded with a straight face.

"How did you get into town without being seen, anyway? The High Road?"

James shook his head. "The Forest."

"At this time of night? And you didn't get lost?"

"No. We followed Sagittarius in. It's dead south of the castle at this time of year. Same as the village," James supplied. He omitted any mention of their romp in the Forbidden Forest beforehand.

"Well, I'm glad you put your education to good use, at any rate." Rosmerta tilted her head. "Hmm, Minerva's house…" she mused. "I do adore the woman, but I don't suppose she'd go easy on you."

"She never does."

"Yes, but I assume tromping around out of bounds after dark carries a heftier penalty than your usual transgressions."

"Tromping around out of bounds after dark _is _one of our usual transgressions," replied Sirius.

"We just don't get caught," James added, his stomach tensing in alarm that maybe Sirius had spilled too much, considering that the staff frequented the pub—and Rosmerta was free to report whatever she saw fit.

Her responding chuckle filled the tavern with a sense of ease.

Sirius pulled his tankard forward before murmuring, "Besides, James is secretly hoping he'd get reported straight to Evans for discipline."

James backhanded him in the stomach before the vessel touched his lips, thwarting any intentions of burying that goading smile in the foam.

"Oi!" Sirius steadied the tankard as the foam ran over the pewter rim. "What? She_ is_ a prefect." Sirius smirked. Besides taking the mickey, James suspected Sirius had ulterior motives for mentioning his interest in Lily.

Meanwhile, Rosmerta surveyed the two of them in amusement, her gaze shifting to and fro as though watching Wimbledon. "Pretty redhead?" she inquired in a bell-like tone, glancing at James then up into her hairline to jog her memory. "I know the one."

James nodded, blushing.

"Gave him a bit of a twisting last year," Sirius informed, flashing James a coded look of sympathy.

Rosmerta studied James carefully as he took a sip of mead until he felt self-conscious under her gaze. "She'll come around," she said matter-of-factly.

His eyes bounced up involuntarily, along with his brows, to meet Rosmerta's hazel ones and to question the confidence with which she'd said it. He might have asked on what grounds she'd spoken, how she even knew about any of the obstacles he faced, but he supposed he'd made enough minor spectacles to get Lily's attention that he wasn't too surprised she knew.

Rosmerta nodded deliberately. "It's natural at your age, that sort of contention." Her tone was as assuring as her lips were full. "I enjoyed it myself."

She appeared to be entertaining private reminiscences before turning a playful eye on Sirius. "And you, Sirius Black? Any witches up at the school you're currently chasing around now that you've ratted on poor James here?" The twinkle in her eye took on a little extra wattage. James relished the chance to watch Sirius volley wit with a venerable adversary for a change, especially knowing what he knew.

Sirius swiped the locks out of his eyes before answering. "Can't say I find any of the Hogwarts girls very exciting."

"Oh come. Not a one? I don't think you give those girls enough credit. I've seen some very pretty witches in here, I tell you."

"Pretty, maybe, but dead boring," Sirius scoffed.

"Well, maybe if you settled down a bit…" Rosmerta challenged with a gamely grin.

"Not planning on it."

"Stopped racing into town every night…" The cross of Rosmerta's arms held firm.

"Hasn't spoiled my fun this evening," he replied pointedly.

Rosmerta's smile widened in spite of herself.

"Your brother doesn't seem quite so high-spirited as you," she remarked, her expression turning thoughtful again.

"Regulus?" Sirius asked, as though he had some other brother.

"Aye."

"Don't ask me what Regulus gets up to," Sirius muttered darkly. "If it were as simple as witches, I'd be relieved."

Rosmerta bit her bottom lip, her eyes tracing thoughts around her head. She looked as though she had something more to say, but hesitated. "But it sounds to me like he follows more in the footsteps of the rest of your family, doesn't he?" Her gentle tone invited conversation, especially on a subject that generally averted Sirius. Nonetheless, Sirius's eyes whipped up to meet hers like a stray dog looking for signs of trust in a stranger.

"Well, I'm the only person in my family to ever get sorted Gryffindor, if that's what you mean." He frowned his usual frown as he said it. "The rest of them hold to foul ideas about blood purity which I don't share." He glanced at James for solidarity. "You probably know that though. Everyone knows about my bloody psychotic family."

"I admire you for it." Rosmerta gave a nod. "Can't be easy, going against the grain of your whole family."

Her tone was sincere. Sirius made a feeble attempt to smile.

"Well, there's family and there's kin," Rosmerta said reassuringly.

Sirius's eyes connected with hers.

Just then a draft of wind buffeted the door, pushing it open like a ghost.

"Mind if I lock that?" she asked, rummaging in her apron pocket and producing a ring of keys. "I'm not taking any more customers tonight. They can hit the Hogshead at this hour."

As she crossed the bar with the little iron ring, James checked his wrist: quarter to eleven. Sirius, for his part, was watching Rosmerta turn the key in the lock. Apron strings hid little.

James leaned surreptitiously toward his mate for his turn to take the mickey. "Any witches in _Hogsmeade_ who interest you?" he whispered.

Sirius's head turned and he slowly grinned.

They dissembled their exchange as soon as Rosmerta turned and began clicking her way back towards them.

Returning behind the bar, she stretched her neck this way and that, braced a hand to it, then reached up to unclasp the locket hanging round it, setting it on the bar with a weary, end-of-night sigh. James caught a waft of something floral and musky all at once as she shook out her hair, a smell that strongly appealed to the stag in him.

"Well, guess I should set about cleaning up the place. Almost time to turn in. I thought you two would be quicker with those stouts." She gestured to their tankards before stepping towards the sink.

"Sorry," they blurted in tandem and proceeded to take a long draft.

"Oh, I'm not saying I mind by any means, I just thought you were keen on chasing it down with a little Firewhiskey." If she meant to tease, James couldn't discern. She ran the faucet into the sink and watched a storm of bubbles brew in the basin. "I always appreciate decent manners, really. Some of my customers downright inhale the stuff, if you ask me."

James's eyes were trained on the shiny oval locket she'd left behind, illuminated by the lantern on the bar. A highlight danced along its seam where James caught sight of a hinge and guessed there must be a portrait inside. He gingerly picked it up and, with a query of his brows, asked permission to open it.

"Oh, sure." Rosmerta waved her hand, still standing at the tap. As the water neared the top of the sink, she flicked her wand to stop the flow.

James clicked open the locket just as Sirius leaned towards him to peer inside.

In the left of two portraits, a very Celtic looking young woman with auburn hair, more brown than red, appeared in profile. Young. Pretty. Her forehead swept high to a widow's peak. She had a long straight nose and lithe neck. And her eyes were recessed just enough to be alluring.

On the right was a slight, grey-haired man.

"Who's this?" James asked.

"My father."

"No, the other one."

Rosmerta hid a knowing smile. "My sister. Whole lotta trouble, that one."

"We like trouble," Sirius replied.

"She looks..."

"…_our _age." Sirius finished James's thought.

"Right around," Rosmerta admitted with a dash of her head. "She's twenty. You're—?"

"Seventeen," Sirius supplied, still peering into the frame.

James knocked Sirius's knee under the bar.

Sirius knocked it back before sitting up straight again.

"Well, close enough," Rosmerta replied, directing pilsner glasses into the suds.

"And you're…?" Sirius seized the opportunity. James admired his audacity.

"Twenty-seven," Rosmerta answered matter-of-factly, without looking up.

James did a double-take before pressing on. "So she doesn't live at home any more, then? Your sister?"

"No… And home hasn't been home for a while," admitted Rosmerta. "My dad died nearly ten years ago. My mum… well…" Rosmerta shook her head ruefully. "I was old enough to be on my own, but my sister lived with my uncle on the Isle of Mann for a few years. She's in London now, working at a record store."

"She's not a witch?" James ventured.

"No, but neither was my dad. I'm the only one who inherited my mum's gift," she said softly. "Ran off with a band of gypsies, before you ask."

Sirius and James shot a startled glance up at Rosmerta. "Your mum?"

"Don't ask me what went through her head. Was harder on my sister than me." She nodded back toward the locket.

"What's her name?" Sirius asked.

"Cybele."

Rosmerta saw through their attempted straight faces. "She's very pretty, I know."

"Runs in the family?" James offered with a lift of one brow.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Potter." Rosmerta smiled.

"Are you close?" Sirius asked.

"My sister and me? In our own complicated way, yes." Rosmerta sighed. "Loved my Da, too. He's the reason I own this pub, really. Left me a smokeshop in London I had no desire for, so I sold it and bought this place instead. Share the money with my sister when she needs it. She keeps promising to come help me out in the summers, but it hasn't happened yet."

James's face budded into a telling smile.

"Oh, don't think I'd trust her around either of you two for a split second," Rosmerta said with a chuckle. "You could charm a girl straight out of her knickers, I'm sure of it."

"We could?" they asked in concert.

Rosmerta laughed. "I imagine you know it already. Without my telling you." She reached for their empty bowls. They murmured their appreciation for the stew once again.

As she returned to the sink with the bowls, they drained the last of their tankards and floated them over to the suds.

"Why, thank you," she said, pivoting and catching sight of the vessels as they took the plunge. "I'll have to start paying you wages if you do any more," she teased.

"We'd stick around. Even scrubbing pots has to be more exciting than anything going on in the castle at this hour," replied Sirius.

"Especially if you paid us in stout," cajoled James. Sirius agreed by means of a bark.

"So you liked it?" Rosmerta smiled fetchingly.

"_Liked_ it?"

"I'm glad someone got to try it before Hagrid drinks it all. Six pints at a time, it doesn't last long." She shook her head gently in admonishment.

"_Six pints?"_ Their eyes glimmered.

"Don't get any ideas. You'd never find your way back to the castle."

"There are worse things than not finding our way back to the castle because of a little mead," Sirius cajoled.

"Well, unfortunately, you can't spend the night here," Rosmerta returned. "Floor's filthy. And I have rules against it." James nudged Sirius with his foot under the bar. Sirius didn't nudge back this time. "Tell me, would you like that shot of Firewhiskey to keep you warm on the walk home?"

"Only if you'll have one with us," Sirius bargained.

Rosmerta tapped her lips in consideration, fighting a smile at his audacity. "It's a deal, Mr. Black. It's a deal… and just about the best way to convince myself to leave these dishes until morning." She reached for the bottle to pour.

…

Stepping into the fallow field again, Firewhiskey warming their throats, Sirius called over his shoulder to James, "Forget about the Firewhiskey, Prongs. Rosmerta's one smokin' hot witch!"


End file.
